There in the Sudden Blackness
by CamsthiSky
Summary: Tim and Dick argue, and at the end, Tim's not actually sure if either of them actually won. Set during Dick's Batman run.
1. Chapter 1

"He didn't mean it," is the first thing out of Dick's mouth when Tim meets his gaze in the mirror.

Tim snorts and looks down at the sink in front of him. He tells Dick, "Sure he didn't."

His hands are raw from how hard he'd scrubbed them, and the tap is still going, and Tim only barely manages to not rip the faucet out of the sink by sheer force of will. His actions are carefully controlled. Tim turns off the tap, and then he turns to finally face Dick.

It's been a long time since he's seen Dick— _really_ seen him, and with one glance at the dark circles that shadow his blue eyes and the worry lines that Tim is pretty sure weren't there a few months ago. He looks _old. World weary._ In a way that Tim never thought Dick could be.

It doesn't dissipate Tim's anger, though.

"He didn't," Dick insists. He's quiet. Calm. His blue eyes are far duller, just a hint of that old spark in his eyes.

The cowl is sucking the life out of him. _Damian_ is sucking the life out of him. The fact that _Dick still believes that Bruce is dead_ is sucking the life out of him. He has no hope that Tim will find Bruce and bring him back, and he's got this stupid notion that Damian needs Robin more than Tim ever did, and Tim thinks that he's never been angrier or more lost in his entire life, and he doesn't understand why Dick is doing this to himself. To them _all._

"Right. Of course," Tim hisses. "He didn't mean it at all. It's not like he's the one _in the Robin uniform_ right now. It's not like he's _tried to kill me before_."

"He's scared," Dick tells him. "He's scared that you're going to upset what he's managed to build here, Tim, and no matter how many times I tell him that you're both my brothers, he—"

"Are we?" Tim cuts him off.

Dick blinks, his mouth hanging open. It takes a moment, but he finally asks, "What?"

"Are we both your brothers?" Tim demands, hands gripping the counter behind him. He keeps eyes on Dick's bewildered gaze. "Because last time I checked, brothers don't kick you out—"

"I _never_ kicked you out, Tim," Dick snaps, but Tim's not having it.

"—and give their costume to next random kid that shows up on the manor doorstep!"

"He's Bruce's son!"

"Yeah? Well so am I!" Tim yells, taking a step forward. "If Bruce were here, he wouldn't have-"

 _"Bruce isn't here!"_ Dick cries out, his face scrunching up as he takes a step forward, and Tim recoils. Dick keeps going, "Bruce isn't here, Tim! Whether he's dead or missing or whatever, _he's not here_ , and I am! I'm the one with the cowl, and Damian needed a reason to stay, and _I did what I could!"_

Tim's anger anchors in his stomach again before it spills out in his words like venom. "So you gave him Robin?! You gave him my entire purpose for living?!"

"You don't _need_ Robin, Tim!" Dick's arms rise and fall, like he's exasperated. "I know you don't want to hear it, but you didn't need it! Not the way Damian does right now!"

"So that's it?" Tim asks. "You have the final say for who gets what uniform? For someone who doesn't want to be like Bruce, you're sure acting a lot like him."

Dick's expression turns thunderous, and it looks _wrong_ on his face. Like he's a completely different person. And for all that Tim's been around Dick and his infamous temper, he's never seen a look like that directed at _him._ It makes his heart skip a beat and his breath catch and his eyes widen. He looks _terrifying._

Dick seems to catch himself, though, because his face goes blank, and his eyes flick to the mirror behind Tim and then back to Tim's face.

"When you want to sit down and have a calm conversation," Dick says, his voice back to that gentle calm, "I'll be down in the bunker with Damian. For now, you're welcome to help yourself to anything here."

And with that, Dick's sweeping out of the bathroom, and Tim feels the tension in his shoulders tighten.

Dammit. _Dammit._ This hadn't been what he'd been aiming for when he'd come here.

When Tim looks up again after a moment, he's startled when he meets bright green eyes. Tim takes an instinctive step back and forces himself into a state of calm. Whatever Damian is here for, he'll be ready.

Except—Damian looks almost ashamed. Worried, too. It's not for Tim, though.

"I didn't mean it," Damian whispers without preamble. "And I apologize for my words."

And with that, Damian's gone, and Tim's alone, and he's never, _ever_ felt more lost than he does right now in this moment. God, he needs to find Bruce, and _fast._ Otherwise, he's afraid he's going to lose his goddamn mind.


	2. Chapter 2

**I wasn't going to add another chapter, but here I have too many feelings.**

* * *

"Fuck," Dick swears into the quiet of the Bunker.

His eyes are squeezed shut and his hold is tight on the railing of the medical cot he's leaning over. The plastic groans under his white-knuckled grip, and Alfred fears for both the plastic and the boy who has been forced into such a state. His chin dips down towards his chest. His shoulders hunch upwards to his ears.

It's emotion that has Dick coiled like this. Emotion of the likes that Alfred has never quite seen overtake his charge before. Sadness. Grief. Terror. _Fury._ Dick's temper is legendary, and Alfred remembers a time when Dick hadn't been able to get even somewhat of a handle of it. A boy filled with happiness and grief and rage. So determined to be happy and find his way, but so lost until he'd finally let himself take Bruce's hand and follow after.

Dick looks so much like that lost little boy now. And this time, there's no hand for Dick to reach out and take. Which is the entire cause of this predicament they find themselves in.

"Fuck," Dick says again, louder this time. And then again, with more vehemence, " _Fuck!"_ Dick lets go of the railing. Spins around. Knocks a stack of papers from one of the nearby tables in a vain attempt to release some of the pent-up emotions that are curling and twisting inside him.

Alfred doesn't reprimand him. Instead, he watches. Waits.

Dick's breathing hard now, but it's not anger that's dominating any longer. Dick's hands shake, and he collapses onto the ground and curls in on himself. He whispers into his knees a choked, _"Fuck."_

He's crying. Alfred can't take it any longer. He walks over to Dick and crouches in front of front of him, placing a firm hand on Dick's shoulder. He says nothing, and for the longest time, they sit in silence.

Timothy and Damian are both still upstairs in the penthouse. Despite the invitation, Tim has not come down to the Bunker to speak with Dick, and Damian is likely in his bedroom drowning out the world with his music—which Alfred think might be for the best, for there is no way that Dick would like either brother to watch him lose his composure.

Alfred had watch the strained truce dissolve into chaos the moment Damian had thrown up his guard and said something he certainly had not meant. And then the argument between Dick and Tim, and Damian's apology.

Alfred suspected that if he went back up to the penthouse, Tim might already be gone.

And one look at Dick made Alfred sure that he was needed in the Bunker far more. And despite _that,_ Alfred isn't the one that Dick really needs.

They'll have to make due, though. It's how they've been living for the past months. Making due with what has been left behind.

"I really want to hit him," Dick says after a while, his voice hoarse. "Punch him right in the face and then hug him to death."

"And there is no doubt in my mind that Master Tim would like much of the same thing," Alfred tells him. "That seems to be how this family functions."

Dick chokes out a wet laugh that very quickly dissolves into shoulder shaking sobs, and Alfred lowers himself all the way to the floor, ignoring decorum for pulling Dick into an embrace. Dick melts into it, and Alfred wishes he could give more support than just _this._

"Damian didn't mean it," Dick tells Alfred. "He _didn't._ He's been so much better lately, and you know he was just scared."

"I know."

"But Tim has a right to be mad." Dick laughs. It's bitter. Self-deprecating. _Chilling._ "I took _Robin_ from him. Without even asking him."

"If I may ask," Alfred says after a moment of quiet, "do you regret it?"

"No." Dick's answer is immediate. "I regret not talking to him about it, though."

Alfred pulls Dick towards him again, tucking Dick's head under his chin. Dick shifts so that he can wrap his own arms around Alfred. "You may not have gone about it the right way, but I believe you are trying your best to make up for what you think are your short-comings, Dick."

"I just want him back," Dick whispers. His voice is shaky, and he's trembling again. "I want you and me, and Damian and Tim and Cass and Jason. And _Bruce._ " Dick's voice cracks on his father's name. "Alfred, I just want my dad. I want my family to be together. I want this not to be such a goddamn mess."

"I know," Alfred says.

Because he does. He sees it every day, as the shadows under his bright blue eyes grow darker and the weight on his shoulders grows heavier and his smiles grow brittle. As the responsibility of the cowl and taking Bruce's place in every way he can and raising Bruce's son becomes hard to bear. As Dick Grayson goes out as Batman every night and returns fragmented and scarred.

And because he, too, wants for everything to not be _such a goddamn mess_ , as Dick had put it.

"My dear boy, I know," Alfred says again, and Dick's shoulders start to shake again. All composure is completely lost for the both of them at this point, and it's all Alfred can do to hold Dick.

For the moment, they're falling apart. All of them. Not a single person in this family had been spared from Bruce's death. They're all paying the price. Alfred just wishes, much like Dick, that they were paying it together.


End file.
